


Es war einmal

by Sangreal



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Disabled Essek Thelyss, Dramatic retellings of fairy tales, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Schmoop, playing fast and loose with magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangreal/pseuds/Sangreal
Summary: “Would you like to hear a story?” Caleb asked, piercing the silence for the first time in what felt like hours.  The fire flickered in his eyes and made him look something ethereal, something fey.  Essek nodded, fearing his voice might shatter the calm, and the tentative peace that had settled in the night air like snowflakes.When he spoke once more, Caleb’s voice was rough, distant as if lost in memory.  As if lost in flames.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	Es war einmal

**Author's Note:**

> This was spawned from a super schmoopie convo on ETFC. Thank you everyone who helped envisioned Caleb and Frumpkin's dramatic retelling of Der Katzenprinz! <3 Unbetaed because I am lazy. 
> 
> Der Katzenprinz written by Liam O'Brien

It had begun with all of them, the Nein and Essek. Uraya and a few of the higher ranking Echo Knights had joined as well, drawn in out of shameless curiosity. The Nein had that effect, that magnetism. Fascination followed them wherever they went. But even so far north, night came eventually and with it the brutal drop in temperature that made both Essek’s joints and his soul ache, and the hangers on dropped like flies one by one, retreating back to bed and barracks. 

The Nein joined his men, citing conservation of magic, though what led to their wariness, he did not know, and they did not care to say. The reticence was well earned, and he did not fault them for it, overjoyed as he was to see them again at all.

Eventually no one remained but Essek and Caleb, huddled around a fitful fire which stayed lit in the frigid night only through the subtle workings of Caleb’s magic. Both of them had fallen into a cautious silence as they stared into the flames opposite one another, a vast, destructive rift between them.

“Would you like to hear a story?” Caleb asked, piercing the silence for the first time in what felt like hours. The fire flickered in his eyes and made him look something ethereal, something fey. Essek nodded, fearing his voice might shatter the calm, and the tentative peace that had settled in the night air like snowflakes. 

When he spoke once more, Caleb’s voice was rough, distant as if lost in memory. As if lost in flames. 

_Once upon a time in a little house on the edge of a great wide wood lived a young boy with his mother. The poor boy was sick and spent much of his days in bed watching the days pass by from a little window in his room._

As if birthed from the power of his words alone, a scene took shape in the fire, sculpted out of tongues of red and orange. Images formed of a small farmhouse, and a woman, and a little boy, peering out of his window, a little boy with star bright eyes and hair like fire. 

_The boy's mother loved him very much, but as it was just the two of them and the boy was ill of health and frail of form, every day she had to make the journey to town where she worked in the kitchens of the local lord._

The woman tied back her hair, and wound an apron over her skirts, and she kissed her son upon the brow, and upon the cheek, and whispered a fond farewell in his ear before leaving him in the little home carved of fire. 

_While she was gone, the boy would mind the house, read one of their precious few books and observe the bees and the trees and the birds in flight as he spent the greater part of his time resting in bed._

In the sparks and the embers, a forest blossomed, full of little birds and insects of all sorts, and Essek swore he could almost hear their song, sweet as honey and the midday sun, sharp as the hum of blackened armor, through which the screams of battle thrummed. A maelstrom of life, and in the midst of it, a little boy, alone. 

_The boy knew that his mother loved him, and that her time away was all for his sake, and he was grateful to her and loved her in return, but it was a lonely life, spending his days re-reading some of the same books or talking to the air in their little home on the woods edge._

The little boy sat upon his windowsill, his back hunched low, his nose buried between the worn pages of a tatty book. An escape. A place of make-believe while the world around him burned. The pages of his book were penned in quicksilver, shining impossibly bright against the inky black of the deep, dark night.

_One day, as the boy sat in bed looking out at the fields that lay between his home and the woods, he noticed a cat making its way out of the forest. It was not long before the boy realized this cat clearly making its way towards his home was no ordinary cat, for upon his head he wore a little top hat. And if that were not strange enough on its own, as the cat pattered up beneath the boy's window, he stood, doffed his cap, took a bow and said: "Greetings, young master. You look as if you could use a bit of dancing."_

Frumpkin coalesced out of the shadows laying heavy against Caleb’s back, his sleek body dragging a fond path against Caleb’s thigh. His eyes glowed eerily in the firelight, too bright, too knowing, as if he saw into Essek’s soul and found him wanting. Caleb stood, and swept his hand over Frumpkin. The little cat stood upon his own hind paws in a mirror of the gesture, with a shimmering amber hat sitting low upon his brow. 

_The boy, stunned by these words from the dapper little cat, could scarcely find his voice. "Oh, no, sir," said the boy. "I don't know how to dance. Nor am I made for it."_

Caleb said this, and his voice was light and gentled, as if years of pain and sorrow and disappointment had all been lifted from his shoulders and his lungs and Essek was hearing now the voice of a child. 

_"Nonsense," said the cat. "Why, anyone can dance if only they look to. Come out of doors and let me show you." And as he spoke, the cat donned his hat and began to turn in circles and dance._

In a mirror of Caleb’s words, Frumpkin twisted and turned, comporting himself as no cat ought to. His little hat sat unperturbed between his ears, even as he performed an admirable rendition of a one-cat jig. Essek had to laugh, shocked and delighted in a way he had not expected himself to be. In a way he had not been since Caleb first introduced him to his magic in the form of a giant orange paw. 

_The boy was curious but said, "Good Sir Cat, I am afraid I am ill. My lungs are too weak and my bones are too frail."_

Caleb looked at Essek, and his gaze was heavy with meaning. Essek could not be certain that he knew, was, in fact, quite certain that he did _not_. And yet, in that moment Essek wondered how transparent his pain must have been, all that time they had spent together. He wondered then, with a sudden discomfiting curiosity, which between them the little boy in the burning house was meant to be. 

_"Oh, maybe they are and maybe they aren't," the cat replied. "But either way, you do not want to languish one more day in bed watching the world go by, do you? Come, take a walk with me through the fields, and I will show you how to dance."_

Frumpkin sauntered over to Essek, and put a feather light paw against his knee. He chittered expectantly, twisting on his paws and beckoning Essek to rise. He looked up to Caleb, whose encouraging shrug was half swallowed by darkness.

Essek tentatively rose, self conscious in the silence, and took Frumpkin’s paw in his hand, just as if he were a man. The smooth pads of Frumpkin’s toes flexed nimbly between Essek’s thumb and forefinger. When they were all three standing, Caleb drew a wand from his pocket, and began casting a spell that Essek did not recognize. 

_Overcoming his doubts, the boy managed to climb down from his window and walk a few steps closer. This was no ordinary cat and no ordinary day, and though he felt unsure, his heart did leap a little and he began to follow the marvelous little cat through the grass, slowly at first but with more vigor as they crossed the fields._

As he spoke, his hands moved like the smoke of their fire, his red hair as dangerous, and as inviting as the flames. Frumpkin urged Essek closer, even as his nerves faltered. He stumbled, waiting a few feet from Caleb’s side, wondering at which spell he was casting. Perhaps this was to be his end, he thought grimly. Perhaps this was nothing more than an attempt to lull Essek into a false sense of security, and now all the judgement he rightfully deserved would be meted out by the man made of fire and shadow. He found that in that moment, with the Katzenprinz holding his hand, he didn’t care. 

_And eventually, he found himself stepping under the shade of the woods for the first time in a great many years. All the while, the cat frolicked and capered as they wound their way deeper into the wood, and eventually the boy found himself stepping into a ring of trees. The cat, whirling about, his hat in hand, the furry little dancer twirled around the boy laughing and calling while the boy watched, his mouth agape._

Caleb stood to the side, and the outline of a door shimmered to life between them. Frumpkin put a paw on the back of Essek’s calf, murmuring his urgency as only cats can. Caleb wordlessly gestured him forward, and like Catha caught in Exandria’s pull, Essek was powerless to deny him. He let out a soft sigh as Caleb’s hands settled over his eyes, and the hot rush of his breath tickled the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a pleasant chill down his spine. 

_And then, quick as a flash, the cat brought his top hat down right atop the boy's head, who was very suddenly plunged into darkness._

They were moving forward, and Essek could feel the subtle pull of magic as they must have crossed whatever threshold Caleb had constructed. And then Caleb’s hands lifted away and he spoke once more. 

_But only a moment, because all about him, shining in the dark, he saw the glow of hundreds of eyes, feline eyes glimmering in the dark. Suddenly about him lanterns flared to light and the boy saw he was no longer in a wood at all. Here, he saw a grand ballroom, festively decorated and filled to the brim with cats. Big cats, small ones, old cats, young ones, cats of every breed and color, and in the center of the great hall upon a stage stood the boy's feline guide. Only now, he was dressed in very fine robes, and upon his head sat a thin golden crown of wrought golden leaves._

Before them stood the scene come to life. A ballroom finer than any in Rosohna, lit only by the myriad twinkling of countless fairy lights hanging overhead like stars. Frumpkin stood before them in the ballroom, wearing gilded silks as fine as any wizard’s, and a crown of laurels atop his brow. He was flanked by an army of cats the likes of which Essek had never seen, and the awe of which stole his breath from his lungs, leaving something painful and fond in its wake. 

Caleb made no move to distance himself from Essek in the grand space, and the heat of his body left the imprint of his form in Essek’s mind as his nose buried into the shell of his ear. 

_The boy stood in wonder and amazement as the great host of cats bowed to their prince and then, in turn, bowed to him. "The world of men is heavy and hard," the princely cat proclaimed. "But here, across the veil, we move with lighter step. Dance with us, child, and forget your troubles for a spell."_

One of Caleb’s hands settled against Essek’s hip, the other caressed, seeking and careful, down his arm, his fingers brushing against Essek’s in wordless invitation. Essek swallowed, and with only a brief moment’s hesitation to steel his nerves, twisted around to face him. Caleb did not move but to hold up his hand in offering.

Essek took it.

_All at once, scores of cats closed in around the boy, purring and turning about his legs as thick as the sea. And as they moved, so too did the boy's feet. He swirled amongst them like a cork on the water, and before he knew it, the boy was dancing -- dancing and dancing as he never imagined he could. And his breath, much to his surprise, was hearty and hale. He found he no longer felt ill in the least._

Essek laughed. All the pain, all the loneliness, all the regret, tugged wordlessly from his lips as Caleb led him around the dance floor, flanked on each and every side by little cats in ball gowns and tuxedos fashioned of starlight and gold. They danced paw in paw in time with the frantic staccato of Essek’s heart. Caleb whirled around him with such longing that it made Essek's heart ache. His fingers interlaced with Essek's, and heavy on Essek's waist as if he might never let him go, as if they might disappear here into this fey place, with these fey creatures, consumed by this fey man's fire. 

_Hours passed, and he and all the cats danced without end, and the prince of cats more than all of them. After a long while, the boy suddenly remembered his mother, and immediately feared she would worry. He stopped in the middle of the great hall and called out to the prince of cats, "Forgive me, Sir Cat, but I can no longer stay. My mother will worry. I have to return."_

Caleb stilled, gasping for air with every other word as he sought to catch his breath. As they both did. Something brushed against Essek’s leg, and when he looked down, it was Frumpkin, golden and fine in his crown and his cloak, staring at Essek expectantly. 

_All the cats parted before him and the prince approached the boy. "Are you sure, boy? You could stay and dance with us for as long as you wish, forever and ever and ever."_

Caleb leaned close, his mussed bangs and his strong nose brushing against Essek’s cheek and Essek’s lashes, and Essek’s perfectly styled hair that had fallen limp against his brow in the whirlwind of their waltz. Essek was not sure when he last drew breath, but his lungs burned with his silence and his stillness. When Caleb spoke, it was barely more than a whisper.

_"I cannot," the boy replied. "My mother has only me and I would not leave her alone. Forgive me."_

With one last shared exhale, Caleb drew away, leaving Essek hollow and wanting, reaching after him with hands he had not realized were trembling. Caleb scooped Frumpkin into his arms and smiled sadly.

_The prince of cats looked on the boy with a sympathetic eye. "Not at all, young one. Fear not a whit. You do your mother credit." And with that, the prince of cats stepped closer. "Do not look so crestfallen. Take our cat's grace with you. You can always dance if the will is there." And from behind his back, he brought out his top hat again and pulled it over the boy's eyes and once again, all was dark._

Caleb held his hand out towards the door to the tower with a wide sweep and a deep bow, as if he were nothing more than an usher in the Cat Prince’s court. Essek realized then, that their story was drawing to an end, that the fairy tale was coming to a close, and that he was expected now to stagger back out into the frigid night. He could find no words to voice his crestfallen denial, and so he only shook his head. Caleb’s expression twisted into something tired. Something cautious.

Something fond.

He took a step back towards Essek, Frumpkin slithering silently to the floor. 

_Sometime later, the boy stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He looked about and discovered he had been asleep in the wood and the sun now dappled his face through the trees. Next, he noticed a threadbare patched top hat lying in the soft grass beside him. He gingerly picked it up and stood within the same circle of trees. As he did so, he took a deep breath and smelled the earth and the forest, and as he did, he realized his breath was strong, and his legs hardy._

Caleb plucked the illusory crown from Frumpkin’s head and offered it to Essek, upon whom it would be no bigger than a bangle. Essek took it without thinking of what it might mean, for not taking it would mean something infinitely worse. 

_"Danke," he said, as he looked down at the hat in his hands. And placing it upon his head, he smiled, kicked up his heels, and quietly started to dance his way all the way back home._

In reply, Essek whispered Caleb’s dress robes into existence, hanging fine and free on his frame, sculpting him out of the fire and the shadow and the light which Essek saw in him. He wreathed himself in the hard angles and unforgiving fabrics which had once adorned the weary shoulders of Dezran Thain as compensation, as commiseration. As wordless apology. 

Essek held up his hands in offering. Caleb glanced down between them, his expression inscrutable, and then back up. To Essek’s eyes, not Thain’s. He nodded once.

And they danced. 

_The End._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry everyone who wanted a smooch. I liked how it felt without one better. MAYBE FOLLOW UP WITH SMOOCH? Y/N?


End file.
